


Is This Not What You Expected to See?

by Pthithia



Series: (Practically) Perfect in Every Way [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Panic Attacks, R didn't mean that stuff he said, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pthithia/pseuds/Pthithia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it all gets to be a bit too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is This Not What You Expected to See?

**Author's Note:**

> Major trigger warning for a massive panic attack followed by an episode of depression and self-loathing. I'm sorry.

_"Try this new medication. After using that one for so long, you may be ready for a smaller dosage. Report back in two weeks, okay, Enjolras?"_

_Yeah, right._

Enjolras tapped his foot loudly, hand shaking. Dr. Mabeuf was wrong. Enjolras had been taking that specific anxiety medication for seven years with positive results, why fucking stop now?

But because Enjolras was an idiot, he had taken the white bottle and left like a good little boy, and now here he was, in the middle of a lecture, feeling Death's cold grip on his shoulder. A trickle of sweat dripped down his temple. His foot tapped louder.

It was hot in the lecture hall, much too hot too handle. His t-shirt was smothering him, the collar sticking to his neck. He was choking, it was too tight-

_No. I am fine. Everything is fine._

He reached up, pulling his sweaty blonde curls into a bun on his head, fanning himself subtly. Why had he picked a seat in the front row??

The professor droned on and on before him, flipping through slides quickly. Enjolras’ hands, usually capable and sure, couldn't keep up with it. He felt clammy and shaky and _oh god, did he just miss half the lecture??_

Frantically flipping his notebook open, trying to find his last page of notes, Enjolras nervously twirled his pen between his fingers and- shit. It slipped from his twitching hands and clattered to the floor.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Everything would be fine. He was going to take a breath, pick up his pen, and take down notes for the rest of the class, and then-

Blinking his eyes open, he watched students filing out of the lecture hall, chatting amiably and energetically and _loud_ , so loud, couldn't they be quiet? And- and-

He had missed it. Enjolras had missed all 90 minutes of a class he couldn't afford to fail. Not if he wanted to finish his major. Not if he wanted to write his dissertation in a year. Not if he wanted to write that term paper that was due - _fuck_ \- tomorrow.

He jumped out of his seat in the now empty lecture hall, haphazardly throwing things into his bookbag. If he could just get home, if he could just get to his bed, he would be okay.

His legs felt like jelly all the way home as he shuffled along the pavement. The heat was worse outside, under the pounding sun that seemed to radiate from the sky, the ground beneath his feet. _Keep walking._

Sagging into the front door of his flat, his breathing came quicker, mind racing a mile a minute.

_What if I can't find my keys?_

_What if I left the stove on?_

_Did I leave my laptop in my class?_

_What should I have for dinner?_

_Should I do my laundry?_

_What if I mix colors with whites?_

_Did I email Combeferre those notes on women's rights?_

Enjolras didn't realize he was on the floor at first, the carpet roughly scratching his face. He was breathing too hard, there was no air, he was suffocating, when did he start crying??

His front door gaped open behind him as he lay face first on the floor, gasping for air. An agonized cry entered his mind, accompanied by the loud whimpering and sobs of some animal, some pitiful creature, _oh god, was that him??_

He still couldn't move, couldn't breathe, maybe he really was dying, surely this couldn't be normal. He was just thinking that maybe he should call for help when the blackness came over him. Sweet relief.

When Enjolras' eyes fluttered open, the apartment was dark, the only light falling into the apartment from the hallway through the open door. All was silent.

Enjolras stretched out of his cramped fetal position on the floor, elbows locked around his knees, tucked under his chin. It must have been hours. His joints popped audibly, and he stood.

A wave of exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks, and he shut the door while flicking on the light. His face felt stiff and tight, like it did after the tears dried on his face.

Enjolras rubbed his cheek, feeling more tired than he had in months. Bending down to pick up his bag from where it had fallen, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

After some difficulty he pulled it out, the small, harsh light making him recoil slightly. A text from Combeferre glared back at him.

_Ferre: Hey, I tried calling earlier but you didn't pick up. Don't work too hard. The group's out at the Corinthe, so don't worry. Make sure you eat something and get to bed at a reasonable time, please._

Enjolras bit his lip. His friends had been trying to call him, and he had been unconscious on the floor of his apartment after having a panic attack about nothing. God, he was pitiful.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he shuffled to his room, drawing back the covers. What a pathetic excuse for a leader he was, passed out on the carpet, crying about laundry. He couldn't do anything right, he'd never do anything right, he couldn't even call Mabeuf until Monday, and goddammit, he'd forgotten to take his antidepressants this morning!

Sobs tore through Enjolras’ chest, welling up as hot tears slipped down his pale cheeks. He wanted someone to hold him, to cuddle him and promise it would be alright, to comfort him like he was a small child. As he climbed into his bed, he wrapped his own arms tightly around himself.

God, Grantaire had been right. Enjolras didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't run the ABC, he couldn't change the world, he'd never be able to. He was just a pathetic looser crying alone in his apartment.

"You're perfect," Grantaire had said the first time Enjolras shook his hand, the shorter man's pupils blown with alcohol, a lazy smile drawling across his face.

And just last week: "You're perfect in every way, Apollo," Grantaire had joked from the corner as Enjolras blushed and protested.

Whimpering to himself now, in the dark, Enjolras let out a shaky sigh. "I can't be perfect," he whispered, unsteady. "I'll never be perfect. You believe in me. _I_ am not enough."

His low whimpers gave way to a deep, animal-like keening as the moonlight filled the room.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I was inspired after all. Everything Enj goes through here is drawn from personal experience, so let me know what you think. Oh my, this ran away from me. Thanks for reading!


End file.
